Stand Down
by Juliet'sEmoPhase
Summary: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes. Post Winter Soldier. Slash, no smut/bad language. Steve is surprised to find Bucky in his home late one night, and hopes they can recover what was lost.


Author's Note 27-04-15: So I thought I'd try my hand at a little Stucky for the lovely Sakura9842 as a late birthday present. No smut or bad language even, just some heartfelt feels I had to get down on the page. I hope you like my lovely! xJx

xxx

Stand Down

Steve knew there was something wrong before he even got the keys to his apartment out of his jeans pocket. There was nothing out of place as far as he could tell as he approached from down the corridor, it was more like a taste in the air that made him wary. He slowed, considering the risks. Should he sound the alarm, or proceed alone? It wasn't like he couldn't handle whatever was waiting for him, it was just the last time he'd found an intruder in his home Director Fury had, to all intents and purposes, died on his living room floor. Guy could get a rep if things like that kept happening.

He knew though that if anything serious went down, Nat and numerous others could probably sweep in in a matter of minutes, and something in his gut was urging him to act with discretion. After all, if anyone had the skills to sneak into Captain America's government protected home, maybe they deserved five minutes to explain themselves.

He slipped the key in the lock and turned it quickly, entering the darkened apartment on alert, eyes scanning the familiar lines of his furniture and other possessions for anything out of place. Considering there was a fully grown man standing in the centre of the room, it didn't take long to figure out what was amiss.

He didn't react to Steve's presence. He was staring down at something in the shadows, something resting in his hands that was apparently far more captivating than the Avenger who crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow.

Steve was going to say something smart (at least he thought so, Stark would probably disagree), but the words caught in his throat as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, taking in the cut of this man's form. He was tired, that much was evident. The kind of tired it was hard for someone who wasn't decades old to appreciate. But even though his body was weighed down, there was still strength there, power lurking under the scruffy jacket and fraying beanie hat. His boots were mud encrusted, gloves worn and soft looking, long hair tied precariously under the cap, pulled away from the sideways profile of the man's face. Even without that vantage though, Steve could tell who he had in is front room; he'd been searching for him for long enough.

In some ways, he had always been searching for Bucky Barnes.

"I remember this," said Bucky, angling the photograph slightly in his hands so the reflection glinted briefly from the moonlight spilling in through the open curtains.

Steve took a very cautious step forwards, hands loose by his side but shoulders tense in anticipation. "The USO Show," he said, referring to the picture that had been taken of the two of them before Bucky's deployment, before Steve's treatment. They had just been kids, in a world changing too fast for them to really understand.

Some newspaper had taken the shot, then run it when they realised the scrawny kid on the right was in fact the new face of the nation's war effort. Hill had dug it up and put a copy in a frame for Steve some time ago. No explanation, no occasion, just sent with a note suggesting he might appreciate having it.

"I remember," said Bucky again, hesitantly.

Steve took another step, wary of spooking his old friend. "You know who I am?" he asked, not quite believing that after all his and Sam's efforts, The Winter Soldier had just sprung up uninvited right in Steve's living room.

Bucky just continued his study of the black and white photograph of two kids grinning goofily at the camera, soda pops raised in cheers with fairground rides spinning in the blurred background. "You were sick on the swing boat," Bucky said, and Steve laughed, half from a sharp thrill of hope and half because it was typical _that _was the first memory he'd dredged up after seventy years of brainwashing.

"You made me eat all that candyfloss," Steve teased back gently, easing further into the room. There was still several feet between him and Bucky, but the last time they'd been this close Bucky had been trying very hard to throw him off a helicarrier. As much as Steve wanted to believe he had returned as a friend, he couldn't be too careful. Especially with his shield propped up at the end of his bed, twenty feet away from being useful.

"This," said Bucky slowly. "Was a long time ago." He stroked the glass in the frame carefully with his right fingertips, the side of him that was still flesh and blood. Steve couldn't see the metal appendage on the left under the coat sleeve and glove, but he knew it was there, able even to take on him and his enhanced capabilities.

They had turned Bucky into a weapon, and the knowledge of this burned down to Steve's bones as much as Hydra's usurping of S.H.I.E.L.D. He couldn't help but feel they had done it to punish him; they could have taken any soldier they had already treated in their labs, but Bucky Barnes had obviously been too tempting an opportunity to let squander on that snowy mountain cliff side.

"It was a long time ago," Steve agreed, wanting to move beside him and hold the other side of the frame, but resisted knowing the state he was in Bucky could bolt or attack at any second. "But, we both sort of went to sleep for a while I think. The world changed around us."

Bucky's brow creased ever so slightly, and he jerked his head towards Steve once in a sharp shake. "Not asleep," he rasped. "I was awake. The whole time."

"You remember?" Steve asked again, not certain if he wanted to hear the answer. "Do you know who I am?"

Bucky touched his middle finger to the image of Steve's face under the glass. "I keep finding my way back to you?" His voice was dry, and still he didn't look up from the photo he was scrutinising. "I…since the lake, I just kept moving. Cities called to me, showing me where the blood was spilled, dark alleyways and tall buildings at the end of riffle scopes. Forests with discarded bones, roadsides with skid marks and the smell of brake fluid."

Finally, blue eyes looked up and startled Steve with their intensity. "I know it's not real, it's all in my head, scrambled with everything else. But I think it was _once _real, it's haunting me and it makes it too hard too…"

He trailed off, hands dropping by his sides, the photo frame hanging loosely from metal fingers. "Then I remember the fair," he said quietly, looking back down and away from Steve. "And…a fort made of pillows. Drinking and singing…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, and Steve felt his breath hitch. "They hurt you," he said. It was a statement, not a question. "They forced you to be their tool and I know you've suffered, but it doesn't have to be like that anymore."

"What else is there though?" Bucky asked, and Steve took another elusive step closer to him.

"There's me," he said. "That dumb punk who never knew when to run away. You knew I'd be here for you, that's why you came."

Bucky looked at the hand holding the picture, his gaze shifting up his artificial arm before squeezing shut again. "I'm not sure who I am though?" he said, his voice little more than a whisper. Again, Steve let his feet move, and he was close enough he could have reached out for Bucky's good shoulder, but he didn't. He had to wait.

"You're the dumb punk who always pulled me back by the scruff of my neck," he said ruefully. "We're the guys even death couldn't stop."

Bucky opened his eyes once more, but refused to look back up at Steve. "I've done things," he croaked.

Finally Steve bridged the final distance between them, taking his wrist, feeling the pulse beating under his skin and demanding his attention. "That wasn't you. Pierce, he reprogrammed you, made you do his dirty work. Bucky Barnes is one of the best men I ever knew."

Bucky looked at the point at which they were now connected, the carefully up to match Steve's heated gaze. "I don't remember him?" he growled, his eyes shining.

"I do," said Steve, gently taking the photograph from his grip and placing it back where it belonged. "There was a time I knew every inch of that man. I can help you relearn him, if you want?"

"I'm broken," said Bucky defiantly, shaking his head as Steve warily slipped his other hand around Bucky's shoulder, the metal cool under the thin material of his jacket.

"Everyone's broken," said Steve defiantly as Bucky sagged under his tight hold. "It's how we piece ourselves back together that counts." He rested his forehead gingerly against the rough wool of Bucky's beanie cap, taking a shaky breath and letting his hands wrap around the other man's back, pulling him into the embrace he feared he'd never get to feel again. "I thought I lost you so many times. I'll never stop fighting, I'll always be here to pick up the pieces."

Bucky's mouth found his like the past several decades had never abandoned them both. He was desperate, longing, and Steve couldn't say he was any less so, pulling them down to the floorboards as his fingers entwined themselves through his thick hair, pulling it from its bun as Steve rediscovered movements long forgotten. He cradled Bucky, suppressing the mirth he felt at realising he was no longer so much bigger than him. That now he was the one holding up the smaller man, begging him to allow him to make him whole.

"I'm with you," Steve whispered, breaths coming short and fast before he kissed his way up the stubble along his jaw line.

"'Til the end of the line," Bucky promised back, like no time had passed at all.

End


End file.
